“Yep. I still find it incredibly interesting that he was killed, and yet he was rewarded with the kind of tomb that would allow him to move into the afterlife,” Harley said.
“Come in today! I’ll meet you at the doors. You’ll be safe. Lots of cops around. I’ll get you any piece of research material you want that I can find! I’ll be like your apprentice!” Jensen said.
“Okay,” Harley agreed. “I’ll text you when I’m at the entrance.”
She ended the call and glanced around the room, running her hands over the sheets. So much for luxuriating in memory.
She hurriedly showered and ran out, anxious to get to the subway and up to the museum.
Despite herself, she found that she kept scrutinizing the crowds of people who thronged around her. It was still morning rush hour. People were everywhere, on their way to work and school.
She was looking for a mummy, she realized.
That was ridiculous, she thought. And yesterday, it didn’t seem bizarre at all that there’d be a mummy around; a mummy fit right in with the zombies.
Rush hour on Monday. Not likely that a mummy would be running around. Then again, it was New York, and people might see a mummy and merely shrug.
No mummies appeared—and she had to admit she was grateful.
As she neared the museum, she texted Jensen. He texted back that he’d meet her at the entrance.
Jensen and an NYPD officer were at the door; Jensen explained who she was and Harley showed the officer her ID.
She was allowed to come in.
It felt strange to walk through the entry with Jensen when everything was so empty. He told her there were at least ten police officers in the building, along with what he believed were “fledgling” FBI agents—probably bored to tears, but assigned to watch over the museum. Jensen talked about the museum itself with great enthusiasm; he just couldn’t resist. She already knew that the facility was devoted to ancient civilizations, from Mesopotamia to Rome to Greece and ancient Egypt and other societies. He explained that he considered it a homage to humanity creating civilization; there was even a wonderful new section on the development of humans, back to the hominidae or great apes speciating from the ancestors of the lesser apes. “When this is...when this is solved, when things are back to normal, when life at least feels normal, you really have to come and spend a day here, just touring around, checking out the exhibits. It’s a phenomenal museum. And I’m so happy to be here, except now the rest of the scientists, curators, historians—and even the café and gift shop employees!—hate us.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“Nope. It’s true.”
“When life does get back to normal, they won’t hate you. And, as we’ve noted before, I’ll bet all the insanity’s going to make the museum more popular than ever. It has a really wicked mystery story now,” Harley reminded him.
“Well, anyway, let’s head back. In one of the prep clean rooms, there are some papers Henry’d been working on. Plus, there are a number of mummies in the room—still in their coffins, for the most part, except for our ‘screaming’ mummy, the one we saw with Henry before he...died. Anyway, I have a meeting with the museum director in a few minutes.”
“Gordon Vincent,” Harley murmured.
Jensen nodded. He glanced her way and sighed. “Yeah. They don’t know if Arlo’s going to make it or not. If he does, I heard he’s probably going to be arrested.”
“He didn’t do it,” Harley said again.
“But—”
“I’m telling you. He was a victim. Like Vivian.”
“Well, from your lips to God’s ears, right? Anyway—and honestly, I wouldn’t want something to come about this way—I believe I’m going to be promoted to curator director for the Amenmose exhibit.”
“Oh. Wow,” Harley murmured. “Congratulations. Well, I guess... I mean, I understand, no one would want things to work this way, but wasn’t Arlo employed by Alchemy?”
“Yes, but he was being offered the permanent position here,” Jensen said.
They walked by the temple and the exhibits that were usually open to the public, then went to the employee section of the museum and one of the rooms next to Arlo’s lab.
“It’s mainly artifacts,” Jensen said. “But that desk has boxes of Henry’s notes. No one could read his scribbled handwriting as well as you could. Maybe you’ll find something. I’ll come back as soon as the meeting’s over and we can go to lunch. Not in the museum, I’m afraid, since everything is closed down today. But I’m sure we can think of someplace you’ll like.”
“How about the sandwich shop over on Sixth?” Harley suggested. “It’s a five-minute walk.”
He gave her a thumbs-up and left. She listened as the door clicked shut.
This room didn’t require “clean” suits, but it was climate controlled. Harley assumed it would be taken for granted that anyone in the room would have complete respect for ancient sarcophagi, bodies and other artifacts.
For a moment, she just looked around.
Many things were still crated. There were just so many artifacts that they were switched in and out of the display. Some of the sarcophagi—the magnificent, beautifully designed and painted outer coffins—had been unpacked. They’d withstood time and climate well, since they were made of hardwood and precious metals.
Shelves on the wall held numerous canopic jars; others were heaped with jewelry. One shelf contained dozens of statuettes and, carefully set in a corner of the room, was a pile of chariot wheels, the body of a chariot and a set of harnesses.
Another shelf held several mummified cats.
Yet another held weapons, some of them simple, having belonged to rank-and-file soldiers. There were maces, shields, daggers, swords, knives and more. Some were inlaid with precious jewels and gold.
They were worth a small fortune.
But to the best of Harley’s knowledge, nothing had ever disappeared from the museum.
The motive for murder wasn’t for treasure. So it seemed, anyway. Then why...?
She shook her head. It was like a puzzle, as Micah had said—with one crucial missing piece. But if you could find all the pieces and put them together, a picture would emerge.
A picture from the past? Perhaps. And what might that have to do with the present? Probably nothing at all. But then again, sometimes just turning one’s mind to a different puzzle helped solve the one that was more pressing.
Harley examined the many offerings in the room that would eventually be catalogued and join other treasures on the museum floor. Then she moved to the cheap aluminum desk—with the cheap aluminum chair in front of it—that was piled high with cardboard boxes of Henry Tomlinson’s observations and recordings. They ranged from his calculations as to where they would find the tomb, to his reactions the day they discovered it. If she knew Henry, the boxes were also stuffed with research papers and anything else he’d found or received that complemented his own work.
Harley sat down and began to read.
Surely, museum staff had at least scanned them before this.
But maybe they hadn’t read everything. Maybe they hadn’t known Henry.
Maybe they hadn’t been determined to catch a killer.
* * *
NED AND VIVIAN RICHTER had a house—a Victorian manor in Brooklyn, in the Williamsburg area, not far from Pratt Institute.
“Swanky,” Craig murmured, ringing the bell.
“It is nice,” Micah agreed. “When I was around here several years ago on that special assignment I worked with you, this area was still kind of sketchy. Lots of drugs and crime—and ‘swanky’ places like this were usually turned into frat houses or apartment buildings with dozens of closet-size apartments.”
“This area has come up in the world—and someone’s put
real money into this house. But Richter’s been a CEO on expeditions with Alchemy. I guess he’s earned plenty of bonuses and more through the years,” Craig said.
“I guess so.”
Craig rang the bell again.
“What do you want to bet a maid’s going to answer?” Micah asked.
“I wouldn’t bet against you!” Craig replied.
“Nothing wrong with being rich,” Micah said. “I’d love to try it one day.”
They were right; the door was opened by a pretty young woman in a maid’s outfit that would’ve done any movie set proud.
“May I help you?” she asked. She had a strong accent, possibly Slavic.
They showed their badges.
“We need to see Mr. and Mrs. Richter, please,” Micah told her.
The woman pursed her lips. “You are aware, sir, that Mrs. Richter is just out of the hospital,” she said.
“Yes, we are aware. We plan to be brief,” Craig assured her.
She led them into a parlor that looked like a furniture showroom. Micah wondered if anyone had ever been in the room before.
But they were only there a minute or two before Vivian Richter made an appearance. “Gentlemen. What can I do for you? I’m about to head into the museum. With everything that’s been going on... Well, I keep thinking that maybe someone’s out to sabotage the exhibit. I keep going over our books, our notes—and, of course, our artifacts. I’m saying ‘our.’ They aren’t ours, as I’m sure you realize. Everything we discovered will be returned to Egypt. We’re not thieves anymore. There was a time, though... Did you know that during the Victorian era, mummies were so plentiful they were often used as kindling? That’s shocking, isn’t it?”
“I think I’ve heard that somewhere,” Micah said.
“Well, anyway...how can I help you? Would you like to come into the museum with me?”
“Actually, we’d like to know where you were yesterday, once you got out of the hospital, and if you were with your husband all day. We’d like to speak with him, too.”
“Ned’s already gone to the museum. But in answer to your question, he was with me all day. He’s a devoted husband.”
“When did he leave?” Micah asked. “This morning, I mean.”
“A little while ago, I believe,” Vivian said.
“You believe? You didn’t actually see him?” Craig asked.
“I spent yesterday and this morning sleeping, resting. I know when my husband’s with me. I can feel his presence. Are either of you married? No? You see, after years of marriage, you don’t need to see, gentlemen—you feel. You’re both still young. Wait until you’ve been married for years. You’ll understand what I’m talking about.”
Vivian Richter was dressed in an attractive, businesslike pantsuit; she looked very thin and a little flushed, but otherwise well.
“Agents, why exactly are you questioning me?” she said to them. “I’m a victim. And you can’t possibly suspect Ned of any wrongdoing! The whole expedition rested on his shoulders. He wouldn’t want anything to go wrong.”
“Our apologies, but questioning is necessary, under the circumstances,” Micah said.
“Part of the job,” Craig added ruefully.
“Oh, please!” Vivian said. “Agent Fox, I heard that you saved my life! And you, Agent Frasier, have been hard at work on the case. I’m grateful to you both, although—due to my recent bout with near death—I haven’t had much chance to socialize with law enforcement.”
“Mrs. Richter, I can’t take credit for saving your life. Anyone there would have dialed 911,” Micah said. “We’re just glad to see you looking so well.”
“Yes! I thank God!” she said. “Great hospital staff, wonderful EMTs... I’m a very lucky woman. I understand I was poisoned with insecticide but apparently, according to the doctors, there’s been an upsurge in problems of that kind because of the liquid nicotine used in electronic cigarettes. They hit me with activated charcoal, and they monitored me for seizures. I was lucky, so lucky. I hear Arlo may not fare as well, that he was exposed to a heavier dose of poison and that he was unconscious when he was found. But I also heard that the police believe Arlo was guilty. That he might’ve been the ‘mummy’ who attacked me. Who meant to kill me!” she ended in a whisper. “Arlo and I... We worked well together. I thought so anyway. I wonder if he was worried because I’m married to Ned. Maybe he was worried that would put me in a better position for a raise at Alchemy. And I realize that some people are convinced that Henry was killed... I never knew what to think. I mean, we had to run! There was death coming at us from the desert!”
“Of course,” Micah said sympathetically. “So, you believe we’ll find Ned at the museum now?”
“Yes. He should be there working.”
“But he didn’t actually tell you he was going in. And you didn’t actually see him,” Craig said.
“No, as I was telling you...”
“Yes. You felt him. When’s the last time you saw him?” Micah asked.
“I, uh... Yesterday’s a bit of a blur for me. We left the hospital and then—”
“He came to the hospital to get you,” Micah inserted.
“I told you! He’s a loving and devoted husband,” Vivian said. “Yes! He came to get me. I’m going to call your superiors, gentlemen, if you suggest once more that he’s anything less than a wonderful man.”
“You still didn’t answer the question,” Craig pointed out.
“All right! I don’t know what time he left this morning. I know he was going to the museum. And he knew, of course—” She suddenly stopped speaking.
“Yes?” Micah prompted.
“I knew he was going into the museum, and he knew I was coming in later today. With everything that went on, and cops, technicians, crime scene people everywhere... I need to see to the integrity of our entire exhibit—especially in light of what happened to Arlo!”
“We’ll see that you get there safely, Mrs. Richter,” Craig offered. “We have a company car, so we can drop you off at the museum. However, considering what you’ve been through, I recommend you contact one of the policemen on duty there today. I think you should be under protection.”
“I’ll make a call,” Micah said.
“It’s not necessary to request protection,” Vivian said. “Honestly, I’ll be fine. Now I know to watch out for people coming near me.”
“I’ll make a call,” Micah repeated firmly.
Vivian smiled. “Thank you. It’s so lovely that you’re watching out for me.”
“We’ll wait here until you’re ready,” Micah said.
“Well, then...thank you! Excuse me. I’ll be right with you.”
She left the room. “You’ll take her in?” Micah asked Craig.
“You’re going to speak with the housekeeper?”
“Yep.”
“You think she’s an illegal?”
“Yes. Okay, right now I’ll call Egan and get him to talk to whoever’s in charge of guarding the museum. They need to keep an eye on Vivian and get eyes on Ned Richter, too. Then I’ll come back here and talk to the housekeeper. Find out the last time she saw Ned Richter.”
“Okay. I’ll get her to the museum,” Craig said. He hesitated. “Richter. I just don’t see him as a player in this game. He’s in big with Alchemy, but he’s not a fanatic Egyptologist.”
“Maybe, this time around, jealousy isn’t the motive,” Micah said.
“Then what the hell is?” Craig murmured.
Vivian reappeared, a heavy bag over her shoulder. Craig politely took it for her, and they exited the house.
Micah opened the passenger door of the agency sedan for Vivian. She looked at him, obviously a little confused. “I don’t mind riding in the back.”
“Ah, but w
e’d rather have you ride up front with my partner. He’ll enjoy your company,” Micah said.
“You’re not coming?”
“I have some things to do,” Micah said vaguely. “Don’t forget, Mrs. Richter—I’ll get a cop assigned to you. Stay safe and take care of yourself.”
When he started to close the car door, she stopped him. “Agent Fox, don’t be suspicious of my husband. I know I’m repeating myself, but he’s a very kind man. People love him and that’s why he’s good at his job. He’d never hurt me.”
“Stay with an officer, Mrs. Richter,” he said, and he managed to close the door.
He glanced back up at the house.
He thought he saw the drapes move and, as soon as the black agency sedan with Craig and Vivian Richter turned the corner, he went back up the walk to the door.
The housekeeper was afraid; he was certain of that. Her immigration status was probably not legal, as he and Craig had guessed.
She might try to hide.
But he wouldn’t leave.
And he knew that—whether it was face-to-face or through the door—she would listen to him when he threatened her.
He hated threatening people, especially a young woman like this, working hard to get into the country.
But he had to know the truth.
Because someone else could die.
Standing there on the steps, waiting, Micah realized that he was afraid for more than just an elusive someone.
He was afraid for Harley. She’d been on that expedition, she’d been determined to voice her suspicions. Harley was poking her nose into everything.
And Harley Frasier was among those who might be targeted by a mummy. A living mummy armed with deadly poison.
Chapter Nine
Harley lost track of time.
She’d known for years, ever since she was a teenager and saw Craig join the FBI, that she wanted to solve crimes. She hadn’t wanted to run around the streets with a gun, although she’d been more than willing to partake in classes at a shooting range. What she loved was the puzzle part of crime-solving. She also loved the concept of profiling, and was extremely glad of her friendship with Kieran Finnegan and, through her, Dr. Fuller and Dr. Mira. They were giving and generous with their time, and they’d talked to her upon occasion about criminal profiling. She’d considered going through still more school and entering the field of profiling.